WHO: Theo Wolfe WHEN: Early Afternoon of August 12 WHERE: In the backyard of his parents' home SUMMARY: It's four years since his wife died and that, along with having watched Game of Thrones, has left Theo rather introspective. WARNINGS: Mentions of death, Red Wedding, Game of Thrones stuff
Theo stood on the porch of his parents' home, watching as Zoe bounded and hopped around the yard, picking out flowers to add to the bouquet her grandmother was holding as she followed her through the meticulously groomed backyard garden. He was leaning forward, his forearms pressed to the rough wood of the railing and his sunglasses perched on his nose to block the odd beam of sunlight that broke through the otherwise overcast sky. It was a typically Virginian summer day, the temperature high and the humidity oppressive. Despite Theo's general preference for cooler weather and winter, he barely noticed the weather from the shade on the porch, his attention so firmly planted on his daughter.
His thoughts were just as heavy as the humidity that day. They had been for a few weeks, ever since the discovery of the television show that mirrored his dreams, both sleeping and waking. He had heard of Game of Thrones, of course; he may not have been quite as up on popular culture as he had once been, but he had been on the internet before and knew of the existence of the show. He had never taken time to watch it, though, and he would never forget the unease he felt as he started to recognize scenes as they played out verbatim from his memories. He had continued to watch with Max, seeing events unfold that he wasn't yet privy to. It seemed like disaster after disaster was piling onto the Stark family, culminating to the wedding that hosted the death of Robb, his wife, their unborn child, and his mother.
Though Theo hadn't watched much more of the show after that -- despite part of him wanting to, if only to support Max as he continued -- his mind insisted on replaying the images in his mind again and again. He hadn't even lived through them in his dreams yet, though he found himself dreading the thought.
Just as Theo's head began to dip forward, his shoulders slumping, his thoughts were torn from its current track as the back door opened. He recognized his father's familiar gait as his boots tapped out a rhythm as he walked across the porch and to where is oldest was standing. His father set a glass on the railing and Theo, expecting it to be filled with his mother's iced tea, allowed a hint of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth when he saw that it was instead a generous splash of bourbon.
"Thanks," Theo said, glancing toward his father as he picked up the glass, then dutifully brought his gaze back to Zoe.
"Thought you might need it." His father was holding an identical glass, which he took a sip of in tandem with Theo. He held the glass in front of him and Theo could feel as his eyes turned to him, appraising his son. "How are you doing?"
It took everything within Theo not to snort in response, but he doubted that he'd be able to follow up the reaction with anything his father would understand -- or believe, for that matter. Instead, he just shrugged one of his shoulders and took another sip of the alcohol, a noncommittal answer, if there ever was one.
His father didn't push for more information, though, as Theo knew he wouldn't. That was his mother's job, one that she excelled at; it was more irritating in his youth and Theo didn't know if he had just come to tolerate it more or simply understood a parent's desire to know and try to fix anything their child was going through. His father, instead, simply reached one of his arms over, his hand clamping onto Theo's shoulder before giving a gentle squeeze.
It wasn't just the show and memories from it that had been weighing on Theo. Today marked four years since his wife had given him what would be their last kiss before she left through the front door of their little house and went on her usual route of her daily run. It was the day that his bouncing of an infant Zoe had been interrupted by a phone call from the hospital, alerting him that there had been an accident and he was being contacted because he was listed as Theresa Wolfe's emergency contact. It was the day that his life changed forever, while his wife's had come to an end.
Watching Robb interact with Talisa had been bittersweet. Though the woman on the screen looked little like Theresa had, it was hard not to see the similarities between Robb's wife and Theo's. It made him wonder if, had Theresa been still alive today, would she be having dreams of a girl from Volantis that had bigger dreams and desires than just being another noble in a city built on slaves? Would they be comparing notes as they woke in the dead of night from another memory of a life neither of them had lived? Of all of the questions Theo asked himself about what his life might have looked like had Theresa left only a handful of seconds earlier or later than she did four years ago, that might have been the strangest.
Theo released a long sigh, bringing the glass of bourbon to his lips, then hesitated. He lowered the glass and said, "I just can't believe it's been four years."
His father released a huff of a breath, which Theo knew to take meant agreement. Though his mother had never completely come to accept Theresa prior to her death thanks to their youth when they were married and her tendency to believe that nothing and no one was quite good enough for her children, his father had always liked her. He recognized how she challenged Theo and helped encourage and bring out a brighter, happier side to him and that was more than enough for him to accept her into the family. With the exception of Max, his father was the only person he had felt comfortable enough to finally break down in front of, only moments before the funeral.
Rather than form any other sort of vocal response, Theo's father instead turned his son and brought him in for a hug. It was brief, but no less sincere. It was what Theo had needed in that moment.
"Daddy!" Zoe's voice cut through Theo's thoughts as his father clapped his hand once more against his back and released him. She bounded up the stairs of the porch, holding out a large bouquet of flowers, largely dominated by anything pink, her current favorite color at the moment. She grinned up at him toothily. "Do you think Mama will like them?"
A fist closed around Theo's heart, even as he dropped to one knee in front of his daughter to put them on the same level. He took the flowers, smiling a bit to himself. Though she had no memories of her mother, he had done everything he could to make sure Zoe had stories, pictures, and videos to know her through. He had only recently started bringing her with him when he visited her grave, even if he wasn't completely sure that she knew what it meant when they went to the cemetery.
"She's going to love them, sweetpea." Straightening up, he nudged the barely touched bourbon toward his father's own glass to finish and held out a hand toward Zoe. She took it without question, then went the extra step and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. Letting his fingers of one hand rest on her soft hair, he wondered if maybe she understood more than he gave her credit for.